


France

by Laeana



Series: ∂ead нearts [3]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Attempted Murder, Childhood Memories, Complicated Relationships, Difficult Decisions, Dorks in Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Fix-It, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Getting Together, Healing, Hiding, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Kings & Queens, Love Confessions, M/M, Negotiations, Poetry, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:47:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26498860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeana/pseuds/Laeana
Summary: In the court of the Italian King, a lot of rumors are whispered.It is especially said that this one cheats on his husband, the Netherland's Prince, with the Prince of Monaco.But for Pierre, caught between his past catching him up, a love that isn't shared and Max who is everything but fine, it seems like the days hardened. Is his life threatened ?
Relationships: Charles Leclerc/Daniel Ricciardo, Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen, Pierre Gasly/Charles Leclerc
Series: ∂ead нearts [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1889596
Comments: 8
Kudos: 13





	1. i'm not yours, not at all

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [France](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23790172) by [Laeana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeana/pseuds/Laeana). 



— Do you realize ? I am so happy !

Charles hops around the room, too enthusiastic, childish. It's not even love, it's just that he loves to receive attention.

Pierre pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s prince regent of France, although the current king is still in power. He has been in love with his childhood friend for a long time but has always managed to silence his feelings. To hide them and embark on a correspondence with the Russian leader, good friend, good confidant. 

— Don't kid yourself, he won't leave the precious prince of the Netherlands for you, he says mockingly.

The truth seems to hit his interlocutor with full force, who darkens a little.

— I know well. No need to remind me.

So why the hell ask for the attention of a married man ? He doesn't understand and it kills him. Maybe he was naive, maybe he believed that the Monegasque would always choose him for and against everything. He was wrong, but he's starting to get used to it.

The habit of being disappointed, the habit of being mistaken, the habit of being heartbroken by the man standing by his side. Almost constantly.

He hates loving him. He hates that their countries are so close to each other and that they can see each other in a short time. This always prompts the youngest to come whimper and complain to his home or to the main palace, announcing any event happening with Daniel, leaving him no respite.

Present time. A conversation with the direct rival of the one who owns his heart. Well, "direct rival", for him, it’s a fight that Max wins hands down. The Italian king cheats on him but loves him more than anything in the world. He’s almost sure he would stop ruling for him.

But the dutchman ... scares him. In fact, he scares him because he fears for his life. He’s afraid of what he’s going to do, he’s afraid of all the things he doesn’t know about and which have been kept under wraps. He’s a strategist but can’t deal with the things he doesn’t know.

— Have you ever wanted to die ?

An echo. A voice. A door that opens deep inside him and in the sad smile offered by his sidekick, he recognizes himself in so many forms. He doesn't want to say it, doesn't want to express it.

Still remembers it too well. This stealth opening that was his childhood, a waking nightmare, a personal hell. When he closes his eyes he shivers remembering the cold, the loneliness, having his dreams and his hopes shattered.

Falling in love with Charles was probably easy as a result of this. Too easy. He's an idiot. Charles was the representation of many things; arrogance, insolence, gentleness, difference. Feeling reassured by his presence.

His childhood friend wasn’t always like that, to seek affection, recognition, to be thirsty for it, to go find it with people, with anyone. With, today, Daniel.

Feeling the knife brush his throat. A blade going so far as to make his pale skin bleed.

The desire to escape. The cliff near the family estate, in search of a solitude that can no longer be filled. Never again.

Pierre hears the rumors going around before knowing what is going on. He turns to Lando first, who is frozen from this sudden flight.

— The seal ... it was the seal of the Netherlands, right ?

— I ... yes. From the royal family. What does that mean, Pierre ? I had never seen Max in such a state.

— Bad news, I'm afraid.

The Briton sinks into one of the chairs, noticing a glass that is still on the table. He takes it off of his hands before he has even had time to taste its contents.

— Don’t try.

— You are not fun.

— And that's my vodka.

Lando bends down to read the piece of paper wrapped around the bottle as a label and raises his eyebrows.

— I don’t understand anything. It's Russian, isn't it ? Damn Pierre, how did you win such an ally !

He takes a quiet sip of his glass. Letting the burning sensation descend pleasantly into his stomach.

— Friend not an ally. I probably would have made a terrible ally, or impractical. I don't know how he manages to have the patience to read me.

— You are hard on yourself I think.

— I have to be. Lando, you are ... the third British prince, right ?

— Yes.

The youngest one lowers his head. This rank assures him that he will never accede to the throne. In addition, the current king is still doing very well.

— But, hey, if Lew- ... the king has a child, our dynasty is pretty sure never to see the crown again. Well, you know this is a complicated situation.

— Complicated ... maybe Max's situation is too. What if he had been recalled to the Netherlands ?

— It's possible. Maybe you can ask the servants if he requested a carriage to be prepared for the next few days ?

— Good idea.

He retrieves his jacket, puts it back on although it is a bit heavy. He has a certain feeling, one that urges him to complete these tasks as soon as possible. He freezes on the threshold of the door.

— Are you going back to England ?

— No, no ... I ... I was appointed as ambassador to go to Spain. I’ll meet my sister there. Apparently we have an interview.

— Pay attention to yourself, okay ? We won't be there to watch you after all.

— Like always ! I know how to take care of myself you know ?

— We still doubt it !

His friend's laughter seems to follow him out of the room. He quickly is told that a carriage has been prepared ... for this very evening. He sighs, retrieves his baggage barely unpacked, since he arrived fairly recently, and sits in the lobby to wait.

He seems to catch Max off guard, but he has no choice. The situation is explained to him very quickly. The journey remains long. The unspoken between them can be very heavy. Both have no interest in hiding the truth, they know it. Relationship of trust, established understanding.

Alex and George ? Pierre finds it hard to fully believe it to be honest. He doesn’t question the word of the dutch, of course not, but it feels so strange to doubt people that he has known for such a long time.

He should be used to it. This is what he has always done since joining the royal family. Doubting everything and everyone, being wary of those who looked at him askance and of what was put in his glass or on his plate. Trained, alert, energized. Something no one ever understood but he wouldn't let himself be fooled anymore.

And the most striking thing is that Romain lets him do as he needs.

Max's father dies quickly. Too fast if he's honest and it's a shock. Something that stirs in the depths of the younger one, an ardor that had been stifled, neatly stored in a drawer, somewhere.

The King of the Netherlands leads the war council hands down and, so to speak, he is magnificent. The upright posture, the grave expression, the eyes sparkling with a cold glow, a superior grin; focused, splendid, imperial. He's not the only one he has this kind of effect on and the whole room seems to know they have to respect his highness.

On leaving the room, he almost runs after his friend, his strides are so fast. Good God. It's been a long time since he saw him so vivid and that makes him as happy as it saddens him.

— Max, do you realize what you chose to do ?

— Do you also doubt me ?

Sharp as a knife, sharp, clean, without any hesitation. An undisguised reproach at the bottom, a wound, a certain fear. That's not what he means.

— No. Of course not. I know you a little too well on that side but shouldn't you warn Daniel ?

— Why ? He’s in Monaco, he probably lives there very well.

He looks down. The evocation suddenly makes him nauseous. He tends to forget that he and his sidekick play the same role, except that Charles hasn't promised him anything at all and that he longs for hopes that have no outlet.

— You should forget about Charles.

So easy. His life would be better that way. Unlike Max, he’s also free of everything. Free to go away, to marry god knows who, and to regret it in a thousand other ways. To blame himself for not being able to love so hard, as well as he wanted to.

— I can't, Max. Just like you can't forget Daniel.

The reminder is painful, the sadness shared. They both lie inside each other and it hurts so much.

— Will you be by my side during this battle ? Isn't it too much to ask you to be with me ?

He makes a decision quickly.

— I'll meet you there. I have one thing to do first.

Max nods and he's already gone, busy with too many things that will probably eat up a night or two of his sleep.

Pierre must set off. The road is long to Monaco. Almost as much as Italy. He makes sure he has no regrets, he wants his Dutch friend to have none either, so he chooses to act behind his back. Too bad if he is angry with him.

The Monegasque royal palace has lost none of its splendor, everything is similar to its memories. He grinds his teeth as he imagines Charles and Daniel, stranded on the four-poster bed in the large bedroom with burgundy walls, enjoying the sun filtering through the windows which frame the small terrace with a splendid view of the sea.

— P-Prince Gasly ? Your visit was planned ?

Some of the servants freeze in the hall, their eyes widening. He shakes his head quickly, trying to reassure them.

— No. I have an urgent business that has arisen. Could you bring in Prince Leclerc and King Ricciardo ? I would wait for them in the royal gardens.

— I-I’ll do everything I can, prince.

— Do your best, I'm patient, don't worry.

He knows that he may need patience, depending on what the two lovers are up to right now. The grounds are splendid. He stays on the top step. At his feet stretches flowerbeds, fountains and a wooded area a little further. Superb. He rests his hands on the railing, savoring the cool air rushing over it.

He's going to need to stay calm, to detach himself from the situation. Entirely. Or he won't get anywhere, and his situation here will look like an unfortunate pretext. He's there for Max, only him, just him. That's all that should be on his mind

— Pierre ! What are you doing here ?

He turns to find Daniel and Charles approaching him, both dressed in lighter outfits, looking almost carefree, offbeat, too happy compared to the scenes of miseries he played and witnessed in the Netherlands. It’s already unbearable for him.

— I encountered a problem. A big problem.

The Italian leader immediately frowns, fearing for the countries or for the alliance probably.

— What's going on ? A war ? A conflict ? Has France had-

— About your husband, Daniel.

— My husband ? Max ? Did something happen to him ?

This surprise on the older man's features disgusts him. He knows very well that the one they are evoking will have done everything to manage the situation alone, but still. Such ignorance.

— He's been crowned King of the Netherlands, that's what's happening.

— What ?!

This time it’s Charles who takes offense, seeming just as surprised as his lover. The two are quite a pair. If Pierre weren't so bitter, that irony would have made him laugh.

— His father is dead. Officially, he is not yet crowned. Unofficially, he is already running his country. Which is good because he is in the middle of a war.

— Against who ?

— I don’t know. But Max is determined to fight. At the present time, he is certainly already doing it. On the frontline.

He has never seen Daniel turn so pale in all his life, ashen, his eyes wide open, panicked, as if he could not believe what he is hearing.

— Let’s hurry to the Netherlands.

— ... Dan ?

— I said: let's hurry to the Netherlands ! I can't stand this ! If I lose him ... if I lose him ... I ...

— I'll have a carriage hitched up right away.

It's like a tacit agreement between the Monegasque and the Italian until the latter leaves the room in a hurry and Charles's neutral facade crumbles.

— I don’t understand. Why should Max be the center of his attention? Why-

— His husband, Charles. His husband who is in danger, who can die. Stop thinking only about yourself.

— You are not going to defend him you too !

There is an air of despair in the tone of the younger one, like a call. He has a contemptuous snort, more amused at all by the situation.

— He always stayed by my side.

He leaves the room in turn. He doesn't have time for these childish things, nor does he want to put up with them again. To give his heart to Charles for him to tear it to pieces with his own hands, because it makes him feel better.

He can laugh at himself. He tries to balance things out, to be a good person, and always ends up reducing everything to his interests. What a selfish person.

The carriage ride is the same as the outward journey. Also silent. Except that they are three. The worry distorts the features of Daniel who is gnawing at his blood. He can't help thinking that it's a bit late, that he shouldn't have gone to Monaco.

And Max welcomes their arrival as well as he imagined. That is to say the worst. The new ruler is still wearing his bloodstained clothes, his look tired despite the harshness he places in it. His husband almost hugs him. Charles remains unmoved for the moment.

— Well, since his highness has come this far, he will certainly give me the pleasure of explaining to me why some of our enemies say they are fighting for Monaco.

A first flaw in the shell of the Monegasque. Closing his eyes, Pierre manages to remember the council of war, something about Monaco had indeed been mentioned but it seems ...

— Too bad, it would have been funny if it had been one of your attempts to kill me.

Max leaves as quickly as he arrived. Daniel takes a few moments before reacting, giving them a wary look and then rushing after him. Still quite shocked, Charles sits back down on the bench, his pretty green eyes wide open. He sighs.

— I never ... wanted to kill him. Dan knows that, right ? He knows that ...

— Is that really all you care about, Charles ? You have more important things to deal with, it seems to me.

— You can't understand how important he is to me.

— This is not what it is about !

He wishes he was good enough to be able to handle this story without feeling the worst. Put a distinct barrier between his feelings and his reason. No one has ever succeeded. He gets fooled.

These words sting him to the quick. Because no, of course not he has no idea what the Italian king represents to him. But he wants to ask a question. What does he represent in the eyes of the Monegasque ? An ally ? A friend ? A tool that he can use and then throw away as he sees fit ?

— Monaco. Charles, this is Monaco. Your city, your people. You have to pay attention to it, to them, you have to check in, get informed.

— Who do you take me for ? I know very well ... I would arrange myself to bring them to justice if they really come from Monaco.

A dark glow shines in the back of his childhood friend's gaze and he says nothing more. Their conversation ends. A banal day, a respite. He remembers the promise made to Max so he takes out his outfit and his sword from his things.

Unsheathing it with a flexible gesture, observing his reflection in the blade, brushing it with his fingertips. So many memories. The sword of the Gasly family. Tainted with many stories ... with a story. His.

Screams, echoes of a memory, echo in his ears and he puts the weapon back in its scabbard, chasing anything that seems to pop into his mind.

Sleep on it.

The council of war, which Pierre didn’t however have the luxury of attending. He’s content to wait in a living room for the situation to be explained to him.

— I think there would have been a lot of ways to do it. And it would have been less dangerous. It's almost like you're looking for high risk.

Charles's intervention makes him squint. Since when has he been so concerned about the health of the king of the land ? Not yesterday anyway.

— I am presenting the plan to you so that you are aware of what you have to do in my battles. It has already been decided, there is no point in contesting it.

— Then I'll be by your side, like last time.

It's spontaneous. Too sincere. He sees Max having a real smile of gratitude to him, almost relieved not to be quite alone.

— What? But Pierre, it's with me that you should-

— I wouldn't be against it, of course. Remembering the good old days ?

They exchange a look. He ignores all the worry Charles has for him, acting as always, like he owns him. It's wrong. He owns his heart, that's for sure, but nothing else. Neither his will nor his actions.

He likes to live this kind of moment. The sword at his waist seems to weigh too much, reminding him of the lives he once took on the battlefield, the ones he scoured in search of peace. Before the Alliance.

— Pierre !

Max is agile, as he always has been. And the blade hits its target with a precision that never ceases to amaze him.

— Thank you !

He returns the favor to him. Back to back, they fight again and again. Until the corpses pile up around them, until the ground is only a scarlet red, until they are the only ones standing. A trumpet sounds and he can't believe it.

He glances around. Few enemies remain. Charles appears, coming to meet them, on his brown horse, "Eclair", a beguiling smile on his lips.

— Any misunderstanding has been cleared up. Pierre ?

— But Max you ...

The Dutchman nods, looking tired, and, although reluctant, he understands that he must leave him a moment alone. He bites his lip and accepts the hand extended to him by his childhood friend before getting on the steed.

— I'm relieved that you have nothing. I was scared ... if something happened to you, I think I would be remiss all my life.

— Really ? Charlie, I decide my own actions. Even if you care about me, I make sure that I am solely responsible for what happens to me. If I ever die, I'd rather have done it in the middle of a fight I chose to fight rather than one in which I was trained by others.

— Would you die because you were convinced by the ideals of others ?

The question surprises him. The hubbub from the crowd makes him wonder if he heard correctly. Their entry into town is greeted with applause and cheers. The people salute these brave soldiers who saved the country.

— That's not what I said.

— That's what you did. Today you could have died. Die because Max got you into this fight ! I can't forgive him ...

Can’t forgive him what ? Pierre looks down thoughtfully. He's not made of glass, he's a very good swordsman even. He fought alongside Charles, Max, Romain. He experienced war personally, he saw people fall, and he always survived it.

— I don't belong to you, Charles. Maybe the idea hurts you, but I don't belong to anyone, especially not to you.


	2. my friend said we are lonely.

He rides down from the horse and weaves his way through the crowd, making his own way to the palace. It makes him think little by little. His destiny ... everything he's done now.

He said he wanted to fight his own battles, not those of others, but what he is doing right now, isn't it fighting someone else's fight ? His post as Prince Regent, the complicated situation in his country ...

He never forgets what he owes. His debts. He could probably stop everything if he wanted to, if he decided to. He knows that Romain would let him choose, go, no matter what happened to him, the French King. He can't let this happen.

He comes down a little later, dressed in lighter clothes, looking for Charles to explain his behavior earlier. He doesn't want them to stay on bad terms. He doesn't feel like leaving it like that.

He can't find anyone. No leader. They all seem to have disappeared and he sighs deeply, not knowing what to do, until his footsteps lead him to one of the royal salons. Where he discovers Max.

— You're not with Charles ?

The Dutchman finishes his bandage, before looking up. He notices at this moment that it’s a real question.

— No. And you, I thought you were with Daniel ?

The King's eyes widen before closing them brutally, his hands shaking, his breath short. He suffers. This is surely it. He himself didn't even notice that his own wound has reopened once again and blood is probably already staining the carpet.

He sits by his friend's ribs, wishing he could heal his heart the same way he did with the cuts obtained in battle, before hugging him. They don't allow themselves much contact but he knows they need it. Both.

— Max ? Mon cher ami, please look at me. Don’t think about it. Everything is fine there now and that is the most important. More than anything. We won. We didn't lose control in a fight and I think it's a positive thing anyway.

The French language is embedded naturally in the middle of his sentence. Pierre can see a small smile on his interlocutor's lips. He's doing his best.

— Shit. We're both so fucked up. It hurts. I know your stakes, I can't even help you, I hate myself you know. I love you too, we don't say it but still. You can cry, I won't say anything ...

Max really starts to cry and he hugs him a little tighter. Words fail him, too. He doesn’t check the time that passes but soon the Dutchman falls asleep against him and he must go and ask the servants to bring a blanket to cover him before slipping away. Exhausted.

The gardens are different here. Maybe a little less flowery. A pretty fountain is blindingly obvious to him and he approaches it quite quickly. He sits on the ledge, running his fingers through the clear water.

— Pierre.

— Charles. So this interview with Daniel went well ? Or ... should I say did you both have a good time ? I am sure you did.

— Are you jealous ?

The mocking glow in the eyes of his comrade ignites something in him. He suddenly clenches his fist, spreading a few drops of water around him. The words he missed for Max seem to come back at this exact moment.

— Do you remember what I told you about Daniel ? Words before, during the Summit ?

— About the fact that he will never leave Max for me ? Yes I remember, I don't need to hear it again.

— You should be able to reassure yourself. He may not even have to leave him for their marriage to be no longer valid. Max surely won't see next year.

His bitterness now shows in his words forcefully and he doesn't even try to restrain it. He reached an impasse, with the feeling of not being able to do anything.

— What do you mean ? Max ... is in danger? But yet-

— You really don't understand anything. At all.

These are phrases that cost him a lot. He knows he's digging in wounds, old scars. He knows he is only rekindling a conflict between two princes.

— What you never wanted to accept. It's that he and I understand each other. I'm talking to you but you remain stubborn, unconscious, you don't know anything at all ...

He takes a deep breath. His hands are shaking this time. It hurts so much that he cannot find a way to save someone who means so much to him.

— Do you know what it's like to hold someone dear to you and have to tell them that everything is fine when their life is constantly screwed up ? He's there, he's broken, you hug him, but you can't help him, you can't, you're helpless.

Pierre looks away from Charles, burnt by the mere fact of seeing him.

— Because no matter what you say, it won't appease him, words never fix anything, it can't save a dire situation. So his heart shatters, he's left vulnerable, prey to risk, and you're here, trying to pick up the pieces, not to cut yourself with it. You don't know if it will help but you try anyway because what else can you do besides trying ? nothing.

Tears come to his eyes. He knows everything will end badly. Max is not a hopeless romantic but he loves Daniel too much for him to consider hurting him.

— But you don't understand all that.

He gets up, breathing deeply to calm himself, recompose a neutral air to face the looks that will slide towards him. Then he heads inside.

— And you don't know everything about me.

— No, it's true,

He takes a break, keeping his back turned to the one who has his heart, the one who is the recipient of all these contrary feelings in his chest.

— I know nothing that you never bothered to reveal to me.

He tries to get closer to the Dutch King, to come back to his side, to try to help him. He can't even do it, soon finds himself cluttered with paperwork. There seems to be ... a sleeper at the French court.

A sleeper ! come on, as if he needed that. Romain and he correspond a lot, they exchange information, establish a plan.

What disasters if it appears in the press ... if rumors spread so quickly and the elite turn against the head of the kingdom.

He hears the cry a little too well. He hardly recognizes Daniel's voice, the pain masks his tone. He was coming down the stairs. He freezes immediately and runs towards the noise. He sees a crowd moving away.

— What happened Daniel ? I thought I heard a ...

His gaze landed inside the room. It's a place he's never really set foot in. But on the balcony, the balcony floor is stained with blood. Max did it, he made his choice. He preferred to die.

— It's your fault ... and Charles's. Good god, Max, why ...

— You know something ?

Pierre turns to Daniel, not remembering his presence until that precise moment. The older one looks almost threatening, desperate.

— If you know something, speak ! Pierre, I must know ! Please ...

— I shouldn't tell you about it. Max will be mad at me if I-

— Max is in critical condition, he’s fighting for his life !

He closes his eyes abruptly. He almost feels his tongue loosen. He shouldn't, because it's betraying a promise but maybe, maybe ... The Italian King can manage to find a solution. The disbelief of his interlocutor is painfully evident as he exposes the situation.

He lets Daniel assemble his information end to end and, in view of the face he is making, everything seems to match. He runs a hand through his hair, the air is stifling.

He walks inward for a moment, just enough to afford a view of the terrace. Blood flowed to the table. Tracing an outline. There was a flask there. A vial that has been carefully removed. Poison ?

— He loves you to the point where he would rather die than kill you. Despite everything you've done to him.

He comes back to the hallway.

— Think now, Daniel. Think about it.

His strides lead him to a small office. He hits. When he has no answers, he opens the door.

— Alex, where did you put the poison ?

— The poison ? Prince Gasly, I don't know what you-

— Stop trying to be courteous. I know everything.

Alex widens his eyes and leans on his desk, breathing deeply, as though having a hard time taking in everything.

— I put the knife and the dagger on the table. Hold on. Does that mean that Max has ... that he has ...

— Yes. Didn't you take it back ?

— N-No. I wasn't even aware of it ! How's Max ? Don't tell me he's dead ? Please ...

— Are you fucking serious ?

The advisor looks sagging, struggling to calm the shaking of his hands, quite different from the poker face he usually displays.

— I didn't mean to do that. That's no excuse, but George had made a promise to me that we would find another way. Any way.

Pierre sighs, he doesn't care about the current situation. Concerns, circumstances added to the equation.

— I don’t know what to tell you.

— I know it's my fault, it's okay. I'll try to go see how he's doing, although I'm sure Daniel is watching.

He nods, concerned. Is it paranoid to think that the person who collected it could use it for tragic ends ? He has to return home. He worries that Max will die, doesn't want to be there if that happens, and knows he can't handle everything from a distance.

— Daniel left me, Pierre.

As in a theatrical drama, his coach is prepared quickly and just as he finally leaves the palace, Charles reappears. He snorts wryly, almost contemptuously, because, well, it's about time.

— And so ? If he hadn't done it now, I wouldn't have understood, given Max's state.

— That's what you were talking about but how did you know ?

He shrugs his shoulders, not wanting to offer any answer, and maybe it’s his mistake since the Monegasque seems to interpret this as an answer.

— Did you sleep with Max ?

— Sleep- ... are you serious ? That’s not possible ! Don't bring me down to your level, I don't need this to maintain my relationships.

He gets a hurt look from his childhood friend but doesn't feel like apologizing. Not at all. He turns his back on him, sort of flees the argument. This is part of one of the many fights he doesn't want to fight, that he doesn't want to fight anymore.

— Pierre ... Pierre, please ! Listen to me, mon cœur, you know that-

Charles grips his arm tight, forcing him to look at him, a background of despair in his eyes. He remains impervious.

— No more words, Charles. I don't want to hear you anymore.

He releases his arm.

— I'm going back to France, Romain needs my help. Do what you want.

— Wait, Pierre, wait !

He rushes into the carriage, trying not to be sensitive to the beautiful watery green eyes watching him go. He deserves better. He deserves more than the kind of false hopes that have been affixed to him for a long time.

Charles knew so easily that he was in love with him, left him aside, left him out, only mentioning him for his own benefit, before taking refuge in Daniel's arms. Again and again.

His birthday has always been a special moment in the year. Like the only moment when the Monegasque gave him his full-time attention. The only time he was fully the center of attention. This year was no exception.

— Pierre ! Congratulations, happy birthday.

— Thank you, Romain.

The King smiles affectionately at him, pulling him to him in a brief hug, before releasing him, not losing his smile.

— I'm not going to keep you any longer, I'm sure others are dying to have your attention tonight.

Pierre nods, although he wants to extend the moment a bit. He has already seen so many ministers, leaders that his head is spinning. He really needs a break but it's far from over.

In truth, he hates this kind of worldliness. He prefers small events that are more discreet, inclusive, less intrusive. Crowded. When he finds himself surrounded by people with whom he has, for the most part, absolutely nothing to do.

He saw people he was happy to see, sincerely. He found Carlos, Lando, Alex, Max, Daniel, Lance and Esteban, even Sebastian and Lewis did him the honor of coming, even though they only stayed a short time. One like the other, desperately trying to avoid each other, still actors in a popular tragedy.

He doesn’t have to express his opinion on it.

He still has not seen Charles and feels disappointment dawning. His childhood friend hasn't missed a single birthday, but everything has a start. The ball is on and he has to start the dance on the arm of a girl of the French nobility, Charlotte, or something like that.

He waltzes her around, twirling on his arm, the lights sparkling her diamond set, showing off her beauty, and he wants nothing more than to replace her with someone else.

The rest of the festivities are encouraging. Not for him. The couples engage on the dance floor, Daniel grabs his husband who has the decency to blush with surprise. He stays near a table, picking up a drink along the way.

The alcohol inside doesn't equal the ones Daniil sends him, he assumes few can match its strength. He would need it though.

He would have liked to invite the Russian monarch ... he had spoken to him about it but that was not possible and he finds himself wishing for his presence. To want to talk to him; he is one of the only friends to whom he thinks he can confide everything without fear. A tap on his shoulder brings him back to reality.

— Sorry to be late, Pierre, the last preparations were complicated.

Charles chuckles, his cheeks flush, his eyes sparkling, his breath short, and looks more handsome to him than any girl in the room.

— You ... no, it's okay. The important thing is that you are there.

— Perhaps. But I haven't given you a present yet, have I ?

He only notices then that they are speaking in French, from the beginning, as if to prevent the rest of the leaders in the room from understanding their exchanged words.

— Do you have a present for me ?

— Follow me, you'll see.

— But isn't it a little reckless to leave ?

— You know like me that they will not notice your absence !

A smile crosses his face and he stretches out his hand to his comrade who takes it with joy and leads him after him. They wander through the almost empty building, his companion seems pretty sure of himself. They always climb higher.

— Are we going ... to the roof ?

— It's a surprise I said !

But they reach it. There is a small platform in the middle of the tiles and marble.

— Look at the sky.

This is what is whispered in his ear. Pierre looks up to find the celestial vault much clearer than usual, the stars completely uncovered. There are so many. The surprise is great.

— That's wonderful.

— Right ? Seb told me that the sky would be particularly beautiful tonight so, well ... Come on, sit down.

The youngest draws him to him. He hadn't noticed yet, but the floor was covered with a blanket and several pillows. Stunned by this vision of the stars, he hadn't thought of looking down.

— It's not a big deal.

Charles seems a little sheepish and leans forward, coming to kiss his lips gently, almost timidly.

— Happy birthday, Pierre.

And just like that, the Monegasque throws a small square box in his hands.

— What ...

— Open ?

He frowns but does so without any harm. Inside, there is a not very large object. That fits in his palm. A quill. He turns it, intrigued, before seeing the emblem of his family affixed to the point.

— But- ... I broke a part of that quill, I was told it was irreparable.

— I knew that meant a lot to you so ... I found a way to get it fixed ?

One of the last memories he has of his family. He slowly puts the quill back in the box, a strong emotion gripping him. He then contents himself with stepping forward to quickly brush his lips against those of his childhood friend.

— Thanks, Charlie. Really.

The truth is, the guests eventually noticed his absence and actively sought him out, but he doesn't care. He's just had one of the best nights of his life, with the boy he loves.

He would like to offer a sincere apology to all these people, but there never will be. Maybe because they can't understand. Few can understand why he did not go to drown his love elsewhere.

In the arms of a beautiful and pretty noblewoman, for example, who would have known how to take care of him, who could have married him, bear his children, without necessarily asking questions.

He suffered the most from a feeling that was never returned to him but he can’t forget. He can't forget those priceless moments they spent, despite all the pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's bittersweet. I love to write about a somehow strong Pierre, who's confronting himself to Charles and who dares to tell him what's wrong ... I love also write about him in his moments of weakness, in his good memories, about everything that made him love Charles ... the end of this pov will arrive in the next part, thanks for still reading !


	3. and my sorrow heals.

The return to the French court is a relief. It's a comeback home and Romain wants to organize a party for his return. A gala. Faced with so much attention, he can't refuse, really. Moreover, this is an event that only concerns the people of their country, for once.

Here he is, dressed, near a table, already bored. He's actually waiting for his leader to come back and talk to him, it's time to have a serious conversation. He grimaces, grabs a glass. The scent is not the best, he has known better alcohols anyway. In general the drinks were not that bad here. He puts it down as quickly as he took it, the urge cut off.

— As I thought, you don't like this kind of party.

— You had years to realize that I think.

— True, but I couldn't help but throw one in your honor.

The older man laughed softly as he grabs a cup filled with wine. In fact, the cup that he himself held a few moments ago. He pauses for a moment, remembering the harsh smell that emanated from it.

— No !

He sweeps the glass abruptly, preventing any drama from happening.

— Poison.

Romain nods immediately, understanding what he fears, without even needing more details.

— The sleeper ?

— Probably. I am almost sure it was the poison that was present at the court of the King of the Netherlands.

— Disturbing ...

Esteban arrives at them in turn, at high speed, looking very worried.

— Este, weren't you supposed to stay with Lance ?

— I was worried. Some things ... were wrong. Lance allowed me to come back. This story of betrayal weighs on me.

The newcomer is one of the only French nobles, close to the throne, who has ever given up his status to go and serve a foreign king; however, he is still affiliated with them.

— The poison ... has your life been threatened lately, Pierre ?

— I ...

The feeling of having someone in his room one night in the Netherlands, the coach that derailed for a moment on the way home, the attack by bandits while he came to Italy and now the poison. It wasn't a coincidence anymore, was it ?

— Yes. At least three times. By details.

— What if they wanted to finish what they had started ? Get rid of the last surviving Gasly ? Have you thought about it ?

— I didn't want to think about it, but you're probably right.

That explains in any case that these are offensives against him, and not against Romain. They want to see him disappear, not the leader. It kinda relieves him.

— This is worrying. A purge of those around us can take time. We're going to have to question the bandits too, maybe the servants.

— I don't think you have time for that, majesty.

— Don't be so formal, Pierre.

— But Pierre is telling the truth. With what is already happening here, the people at their wit's end, there are more important things to sort out.

— So what do we do ? We wait for Pierre to die and everything will be better ?

The sentence itself is not strong, but the tone in which it is spoken makes him shudder. He knows very well that the King cares for him as much as he cares for the King.

— I'll go into exile for a few moments.

— And I'm going to stay and take care of the traitor, whoever he is. I would not go back to Belgium until I’m done.

— That solves a question, but where do you intend to go into exile, Pierre ? Italy and the Netherlands are probably no longer a safe place if what you say is true ...

Pierre has no desire to go to these two countries. As long as Max is in an in-between, as long as he's not awake. It hurts too much to see that he failed to be there for his friend, to do anything for him. To help him.

He's not considering Monaco either, refuses to consider it to be honest. The idea is unbearable to him, the proximity to the French court could be fatal to him. He only has one solution left.

— In Russia.

— Russia ? Are you sure ?

— Yes. I have already communicated with its leader, he agrees that I come. I would leave this evening, at night, to avoid the unforeseen.

— You are sure of yourself.

Romain bites his lip, before sighing sharply, and pulling him to him in a tight embrace.

— I love you. Don’t forget it. I'll send someone to pick you up as soon as possible.

He feels the tears somewhere in his eyes, the particularly violent emotion in his throat, and does violence to pull back and remain impassive.

— Very well, thank you, your majesty.

The French king nods, looking serious, before turning away and the scene ends. Esteban gives him a worried look.

— Are you going to be okay ? I'm afraid something's going to happen to you.

— I know how to defend myself, that will be fine. Anyway, we don't have too many choices.

— The choice ? I don’t know. Don't you want to at least warn Charles ?

He almost finds himself on a passage that has already been played out. A different actor; Max. The difference is that they are still not married, him and the Monegasque.

— I want to avoid fanning the subject, I will come back anyway. I'll get my things ready.

— Very well. Goodbye, Pierre.

He waves to him and walks deeper into the building. His suitcases is still not unpacked. He would almost laugh about it, he never settles down, no matter where he goes. He just opens a drawer to find a certain almost new quill which he slips into his things. Someone's knocking at the door.

— Your coach is ready, waiting for you at the back entrance.

— I see, thank you.

He takes his luggage in his hand, slips into the silent palace. He settles into the car with a blank expression. Then waits. It's a longer trip, maybe he's never been so far. The place where he traveled most often is Monaco.

He met Charles at age ten, three years after changing his life. Romain took him with him on a diplomatic visit. He knew good manners, tried to behave the best, and was genuinely happy to see other countries.

Dinner, however, turned out to be boring. He remains too young to understand everything and very quickly gets bored. He said nothing, unable to shame his protector. Until he meets two forest pupils.

It’s a boy about his age he would say that is staring at him with interest. The Leclerc heir, he remembers hearing it.

— My king ? Can I leave the table to show the surroundings of the palace to our guest ?

Pierre takes a few moments before realizing that it is about him that they are talking about. This almost too formal way of speaking strikes him as strange. But finally the prince leads him and it is in the large garden, in the shelter of a grove, that they take their places.

— I'm Charles. You are Pierre, aren't you ? I had never seen you before, not that Romain brings few people, but he never brought someone like you ... you are not his son are you ? What are your links ?

He tilts his head. Lots of questions at the same time, he is not sure he remembers them all.

— He took me in. He is not my father, strictly speaking. I don’t know. He asked if I wanted to come with him and I agreed.

— Monaco is a pretty place, don't you think ? One day I would rule this territory ! Well, the king says that I have to concentrate on my Italian lessons and politics before, but that never stopped anyone from ruling ? English is used mostly ... 

— Are you the king's son ?

— Yes.

— But you call him "king" ?

Charles nibbles the inside of his cheek and comes to scrutinize him again with his pretty eyes. He wonders if he said something wrong.

— It's a habit that I took. Anyway, he prefers that I call him that.

— Oh.

— Are you good at languages ?

— Romain watches over that I have the most complete education, from what he told me.

The Monegasque is very good at changing the subject of conversation. It's something he has a harder time with, having a feeling of unfinished in his mind.

— You know what ? I'm happy to have met you ! At least now I wouldn't be alone at these big meetings ...

He doesn't know yet if he'll be able to come back, but he nods, wanting to please his comrade. Since then, he hasn't missed any meeting, with his leader accepting without too much difficulty that he comes, and has met Charles at every opportunity, forging a strong relationship between them.

— Pierre ! Nice to meet you, finally.

Daniil kisses the back of his hand after an elegant curtsy and he is happy to finally meet his benefactor. 

— Me too, Daniil. 

— Welcome here, make yourself at home, don’t hesitate.

The leader extends his hand to him with a smile and he doesn’t hesitate before grabbing it. It’s colder here than in the other countries he has been to. He took his warmer clothes as his friend had warned. But the latter gauges him from top to bottom, after he arrives in front of a beige door that he supposes to be his room.

— I'll have you bring some extra clothes.

— Thank you.

The older one just nods before leaving him. It's a pretty room in gray tones, with a toilet nearby. His business is already in place. He takes out his quill and notepaper.

_ I would have loved watching you _

_ Sleeping in my arms, soothed _

_ The lover of all my dream nights _

_ But never of those I live awake _

_ I tremble while whispering your name in the dark _

_ At your feet die my last hopes _

_ You had to lose a man to want me _

_ One who knew how to welcome you many evenings _

_ Leaving me, torned soul and heavy heart _

_ When I imagine your frolics, your words of love _

_ You made fun of me, perfidious, and your velvet voice _

_ Resonates until I want to make myself deaf _

_ What ! this dear friendship that I defend _

_ Made you jealous, made you mistrustful  _

_ Aren’t you aware that during all these years _

_ For you, I would have drained my own blood _

_ He doesn’t love you, you know it willingly _

_ And I stay unfortunate and forsaken _

_ Ô, but me, I would have loved watching you _

_ Sleeping in my arms, soothed. _

Pierre spent time resting here. He seems to have frozen in ice and in time. It's calming to be outside of it all, like it's too stuffy before. He took stock of himself, he took a step back.

Long walks in the garden, horse riding, duels, evenings spent with Daniil who in turn tells him a tragic love story, his love story, which never ended since he never saw his lover again.

— It was years ago ...

— Do you miss him ?

— A lot.

Silence falls on them for a little while, but it's not heavy. He is far from the demanding and derogatory looks that have often governed his life.

— How did you recognize the poison ? And the bandits how did you get rid of them ?

He closes his eyes, it's always delicate.

— The poison, I recognized it to have unfortunately already met it. This particular type emits a certain odor due to the plants it contains. During the attack, it was the coach that had been surrounded and my coachman killed as well as a servant. I had to go out to get rid of them myself, I had kept my sword with me. A few fled anyway.

The Russian leader nods and takes a sip from his glass, quickly, before putting it down in a dry gesture.

— Pierre, have you ever thought of taking the throne ?

Daniil's question is point blank, straightforward, and it makes him shut up. A little too suddenly.

But he can't blame him. On the contrary to what everyone else thinks, he will never want to dethrone him.

Romain took him in when he was very young, when he had no family, no money, just a name without belonging.

Romain had offered him everything; a home, clothes, food, even a family, and had taken care of his education. Treating him with respect, calm, and tenderness, letting him live by his side.

He grew up as a real little prince without ever having the status.

So he always felt that the least he could do to thank his lifelong protector was to help him lead this complicated country that was France.

— Never.

— Really ?

— Can I ... tell you a story ?

Daniil nods and Pierre takes a deep breath. He feels his fingers tighten over the cup he's holding and he has to remember to relax to really feel it.

— There used to be a family. The richest in the region. She was influential but not stingy, was kind to the servants and the people around. She was upright and faithful to the King of France.

He meets the understanding brown gaze of his comrade but can't stand it for long before looking down.

— However, I suppose that wealth is dangerous in this world. It turned out that the family did not last long. She was poisoned during a large celebratory meal for the heir's birthday. Without exception. All social classes.

The images are still scrolling now, there. While he is far from it all, far from the stifling heat, the screams, the blood.

— Those who survived found themselves engulfed in flames. The house was on fire ! surely the culprits didn’t want to leave any trace of their crimes.

Salt rolling down his cheeks ... tears. It's tears. That's it. He is weak, he can’t protect anything. Anyone. Remembers his mother lying on the floor, left in the big room on fire.

— Seeing that some succeeded in escaping, they seized their swords or those they found. Including the family sword. Killed by his own weapon, what an irony.

He remembers his father who protected him to the end, his father who found himself stabbed in a precise blow to the heart. Having to crawl under the corpses, bathing in the ferrous liquid to stay hidden. 

— The incident didn’t leave any survivors except one. One and only, perhaps blessed by the Gods, on this occasion which should have been special for him. The Heir. Who found himself taken in by the King of France, only 17 at the time, when he found out about the situation.

And he had seven.

— I'm sorry. Is it ... them who attempted to your life lately ?

— We don’t know yet. Surely.

— You wouldn't want to stay here ? I'm sure I can protect you, they'll never find you.

The offer is full of kindness and common sense. He knows Daniil is sincere. It makes him smile softly, coming back to life where so many of his have left it.

— Thank you for being there for me, Dany.

— It's nothing. Please consider the proposal. Consider it even if there is the temptation of your beautiful lover in Monaco.

He blushes faintly before shaking his head. His partner tends to tease him a lot, about anything and everything, and the worst part is that he just can't seem to retort. Spontaneity ...

Three months without changes led him to a simple routine. He is happy here, because he doesn’t worry too much. He has no news from the outside world. He only knows what Daniil tells to him. Like the fact that Max is awake, or the political changes all around.

He hears about problems that Lando encountered but unfortunately they are too far away and he doesn’t know more. He feels worried.

Then one day, Charles arrives.

He comes back to his room around midday and Charles is there, sitting at his desk, holding the poem he couldn't bring himself to throw in one hand.

— What are you doing here, Charlie ?

— I, uh, wanted to see you.

The Monegasque seems sheepish, very uncertain. He realizes that the younger has always seemed sure of himself, like having a head start, in everything except during their conversations.

— It was a hell of a trip to see me, you know ?

— Yes, but I couldn't wait. I know you'd probably prefer we didn't talk about it again, but I need it.

He wished he'd never heard of it again three months ago, when he was still angry, hurt, disappointed. But three months have passed, letting his anger dry, subside. He is calm and just nods.

— Dan has ... a great importance in my life and I think I would have a hard time telling you about it right away. But I don’t love him. I don't love him the way I love you and I'm sorry for being such a fool, I just ...

The other prince puts the paper on the desk, looking genuinely upset, before getting up, coming closer to him but not touching him.

— I should have taken your feelings into account. I hurt you so badly, I’m mad at myself. But I know above all that I don't want to lose you. It's you that I want by my side for the rest of my life, not Daniel, not just anyone else, you.

He walks slowly, putting his lips against Charles's with a brief, fleeting gesture. Recalling the last kiss they exchanged, the one during his birthday, at the beginning of the year. Not so far but it almost seems like a life has passed in between.

— Pierre ? Does-

But he still moves, this time pushing harder into their kiss. An exchange that takes intensity and the arms of his Monegasque come to wrap themselves around him desperately. 

Maybe he's an idiot, to want to forgive, to want to do things right. He's probably an idiot, but Charles needs him and he's not ready to let him down.

— Let's go home, okay Charlie ?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not much but i had the feeling it was good as it is. The fire Pierre felt during all these days calmed itself with a bit more time, outside of everything. More explanations during the next parts that will be on Monaco ... i hope you liked this chapter who deviates from the main route to go find his own way ...  
> I'll post the next part translated very soon, thanks for reading !


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